Esther and the King - A Love Story
by IscaDumnoniorum
Summary: An improbable tale of finding love unexpectedly - this is my take on the story of Esther as envisioned in the film One Night with the King. I use dialogue from key scenes verbatim, but flesh them out in order to tell the story the way I would like to see it. I also borrow some from the novel "Esther" by Nathaniel Norsen Weinreb.
1. Chapter 1

"Why then, hast thou beguiled me?" The king's voice broke into her reverie and she started, suddenly aware that he had been listening, and that she had, essentially, flaunted protocol and ignored all her instructions from Hegai. For a moment she was frozen in fear, but the king went on, amusement and kindness mixed in his voice. "I must admit that never before has such a tale been found in the pages of the royal diary. Here I expect to be lulled to sleep by tedious reports but instead I am beguiled by a love story."

She stole a glance at him and saw that he was looking at her. He smiled, wiping his hands with a cloth. He was handsome, tall as an oak, and he moved gracefully, easily through the room. "And how ends your tale? This – Jacob, he is able to have his bride?"

She was not sure what to say. Suppose he knew the story of Jacob and Rachel? Suppose he guessed? Then her promise to Mordecai would be broken. But she could feel him waiting, and something in her stirred at his interest. "He is able to have her?" his voice came again. She stole another glance at him. His eyes were grey. "Only after serving seven more years for her, my lord king," she replied.

"Seven more years?!" he lifted his eyebrows and chuckled. "Believest thou in such love?" She smiled in spite of herself. Many times she'd heard the men of her village make this exact point, and she relished debate – beyond what was good for her if her uncle was to be believed. "Perhaps it is meant to illustrate an idea of love, my lord," she said, tilting her head. "Not an attainable one but rather a picture of the devotion we should give to… to the gods. For do not the sages tell us, love is the greatest commandment?"

Xerxes regarded her thoughtfully, still amused. She had the distinct impression of being studied. "You speak truly. Yes, it is written." After a pause he, too, tilted his head. "What do they call you?" he asked. "Esther of Susa," she answered. "Susa? No! Nothing good ever comes out of Susa." There was laughter in his voice. "Look at me," and he spread his arms, grinning. But she could not. Her cheeks were burning.

The king held out his hand. "Come," he said. "Since you will not read to me, I will show you what it is I do – no," he said, catching sight of her eyes, wide and dark, "Do not fear me. If I were angry I would have simply dismissed you, though – " and his voice grew serious, "you are lucky I am intrigued by your tale." She rose and followed him, curious in spite of herself. He was nothing like what she had expected – a harsh, heavy-set man, with a pinched face and the heavily perfumed curls of a Persian. This Xerxes wore no wig. He was lithe, well-muscled, gracious in speech – with a gaze that spoke of thoughtfulness. There was intelligence behind his eyes – intelligence, and reserve.

His arm still reached for her as he led her toward a table at the far end of the room. "I am trying my hand at sculpting. But it is difficult – see? These figures look nothing like what I wanted." She saw that it was so – hunks of clay and bowls of water littered the table. A few figures rose up among them, some more finished than others. The king gestured. "This is the one I am working on now. The Greeks have a god of similar form. His arm will hold the bow, his arrows they say are tipped with…with love," he laughed, a bit self-consciously. "What god?" she asked. Xerxes thought for a moment. "I think his name is Cupid," he said. "Cupid," she tasted the unfamiliar syllables, bending forward to look. She moved closer, cautiously – aware that she should not approach without permission, but the king seemed not to notice.

"I know some Greek," she said, still looking at the figure "though not much. I have not heard of this Cupid." "Do you?" Xerxes eyebrows shot up. "How is it that you know Greek?"

"I learned when I was young," she said. "I like languages – for me they open up worlds beyond my own. Though –" she stopped suddenly, considering, "It is a different matter for your Majesty I would imagine." _Why am I speaking to him without artifice, as if we are familiar with each other? _she thought._ Hegai will despair of me! I must hold my tongue._

"I never liked Greek," Xerxes confessed, "The sounds are too hard. I stumble over them." He smiled, moving closer to her as he wet his hands, feeling the clay with his fingers. "And they have strange philosophies. Their way of life is distinctly opposed to our own – the Persian Way of Light. And yet," he sighed, "no one can match them in this – the ability to coax forms out of stone. You should see the things they have made. It is as if living men, and horses, and weapons, have all sprung from solid marble, perfectly formed. I have never seen their like. And here I am," he smiled ruefully, "playing at the feet of my betters." She watched as he fell into silence, his fingers working the clay, his head bent over, absorbed in his task. Without thinking, she walked slowly around the table, taking everything in. The light from the lamps was muted. It was a room fit for comfort, but still grander than anything she had seen at home. Huge columns ascended out of sight. Groupings of cushions and low tables were ranged about the room, and the broad windows overlooked steep waterfalls and wide views. It was a cloudless night, and moonlight streamed in, its blue shadows mingling with the warmer lamplight. As Xerxes worked, he glanced up at her now and then, but otherwise said nothing. The only sounds were the swish of water in the bowl, the soft hiss and pop of the charcoal braziers. It was as if a hush had descended on the palace and enveloped them a cocoon.

After a time, Xerxes straightened up. "I am finished for tonight" he announced. "Tell me, Esther of Susa, what do you think?" He gestured to the figure of Cupid as she came swiftly back. "It is….looking more and more like an archer, my lord," she said.

Xerxes laughed outright. "Thank you for your honest appraisal my lady." Her cheeks colored slightly at the title. "Still I wonder, how can his arrows be tipped with love? Some archer's arrows are tipped with poison, my lord." She lifted her hand to touch the statue at the same moment he did, and their fingers collided. A bolt went through him. The reverberation of it scattered his thoughts. He tried to collect himself but all he could say was "Sometimes – it is hard to tell the difference. The effects are the same."

He felt Hegai approach, here to take her away. Part of him was relieved – _what had happened, in the space of those few moments?_ – yet part of him hesitated. Still, it was time. With the resignation born of long habit he retreated behind the mask of kingship. "I have kept you here too long, I fear, and the night is growing cold. It is time, Esther of Susa, for you to leave me." He motioned to Hegai, who moved protectively beside his charge. "Perhaps another time, in some other place….you will read to me again."

Hegai nodded. He caught the king's meaning – but the audience was over.


	2. Chapter 2

The sky over Persia was velvet black and ablaze with stars as the king stepped out onto one of the many balconies that bordered his rooms. The air smelled of myrrh and acacia trees. A cool wind skirted the terraces, ruffling the fountains so that they hissed softly and flung droplets of silver which caught the torchlight and then disappeared, phantasmal, into the night air. Xerxes leaned his elbows on the balcony's edge and gazed over the palace grounds, with their familiar foursquare gardens and temples, their pools and colonnaded walks, and then beyond to the city of Susa, beyond the great bronze gates whose carven figures stood, menacing and grand, against any intruder.

He looked down at his hands, and rubbed his palms together, carefully, slowly. He was trying not to think. He was aware of the approach of something he did not want to face – something looming, like a cloud passing over the moon or the low roar of a sandstorm some miles off. Usually when he stepped out here it was to wrestle with thorny issues – the wrangling of his princes with their competing agendas, the weighing of intrigue and half-truths that always seemed to swirl around him. But this memory, this…feeling he wished to avoid – this was new, unexpected, unsettling.

_What do they call you?_ Xerxes gripped the railing as her image, unbidden, rose in his mind. He thought she might be one of the candidates, but he couldn't be sure. Esther of Susa. She'd answered him openly, as one human being to another, which was surprising enough, and yet there was something concealed in her voice – a reticence that had nothing to do with playing the coquette. It was difficult to pin down how, in so short an encounter, he could have felt so much – happy, content, at peace. Why did he continue to think of her? She was surprising, he supposed. _That must be it. Different._ She did not obey orders, she was easy to talk to, she was clearly not seeking favors. That was the strangest thing. Even as they had talked so informally, he noticed a self-possession she had that seemed to come from a need to hold something back, to keep something of herself for other purposes.

It was this self-possession that struck him. Xerxes understood that – he was well acquainted with this act of balancing honesty with caution. To have recognized that in another person in the most unexpected of circumstances was both moving and unnerving.

Xerxes threw his head back in frustration and for a moment saw the great blaze of stars strewn carelessly across the sky, glittering fragments of light – a reflection of Ahura Mazda, the Lord of Light. _I will count the stars,_ he thought wryly. _That will keep my mind off of her_.

Still, she was beautiful. Too beautiful. And learned. It was the last thing he needed, with the campaign to Greece on the horizon and his princes deeply divided over the right course of action. The contest was – at best – a distraction. There were times when the women they brought him pleased him enough that he took them to his bed, but why had he need of a contest for that? For a moment he missed Vashti, who had never given him a moment's unrest. Regal, self-assured and deeply traditional, Vashti was in many respects the perfect queen – she followed protocol, she dazzled the court with her beauty, and – up until that last unfortunate business with the banquet – she was present at his side on state occasions. She came from a great family and so knew how to conduct herself at court. She was cordial, interesting in her way, and utterly un-exciting. But this Esther...she burned in his memory, luminous. Even her name meant star.

Xerxes laughed at himself and cast a last look heavenward. The real stars shone down on him, distant and cold. _What fools men are_, he thought, smiling. _They will have us, in the end_. He rubbed his fingers together, remembering her touch, closing his eyes against the longing that rose up – fierce and consuming – to have her for his own. There. There it was, despite his attempts to avoid it. For a moment he stood immobile, his heart hammering in his throat. Then he let out his breath slowly, turned, and walked inside.


	3. Chapter 3

Hadassah fiddled with the fringe of her cloak and stared listlessly across the garden. For the hundredth time that day she tried to train her thoughts on something useful, like what she should read to the candidates tonight. It had turned into quite a crowd, these nightly readings, and some of the women had even asked her to teach them. Hadassah liked teaching. Mordecai occasionally ran a school of sorts out of their house, and for some time now he had enlisted her help with the littlest pupils, particularly in teaching them to read. She smiled, remembering their high-pitched voices chanting with her – _Alef, Bet, Gimel, Dalet_! But – she reasoned crossly with herself – it was difficult when she was unable to use the stories of Israel as a way of drawing on a collective memory to help demonstrate how sounds and letters went together. The women with whom she was companied were from all over the empire, and had no stories in common. It was true they enjoyed hearing her read from any scroll Hegai might care to rustle up out of the palace libraries, as long as it involved some kind of plot, but without a shared history it was challenging to find texts absorbing enough to get them to really study. Their reticence baffled her. How could they not apply themselves? Reading meant learning. Learning meant knowledge. And knowledge – as she had known from her days at Mordecai's knee – knowledge meant power.

Ah, but it was more than that, Hadassah knew. Knowledge opened up worlds beyond the small borders within which most people lived and died, generation upon generation. To learn of other places, other peoples, through their stories and records and ideas was thrilling regardless of whether that learning conferred power. _He knows that too_, she thought. _Xerxes_. She tried not to think of him, tried not to remember what it felt like to look at his face and see him looking back at her. Of the millions living under his rule, barely a handful were ever given a chance to see him, much less converse with him. In all her years Hadassah had never given him a moment's thought, never been curious about the goings on at the palace despite Mordecai's position there as a scribe. The king was as removed from her as she was from the stars in the heavens. It was strange beyond measure that she now found herself living within the palace walls, being forced to participate in a contest whose prize was being named queen. Stranger still was the fact that she had talked with him…

"He is my enemy," she said aloud to the monkeys loping among the fruit trees, "I care naught for his favor." But the words died on her lips. Somehow, in the inner chambers of her mind, she knew she wanted him to think well of her. Why she could not say, but she hoped that he would remember her – not as a candidate but as person, as a woman with intelligence and abilities to offer the world. In this she was unusual, she knew, but everything about the way she had been raised was unorthodox. Not that Mordecai ever deviated one jot from Jewish law; indeed he had instilled in her a love of that law, the law which hallowed them, which set them apart from other men and gave them a bridge to God. But in all other respects he ignored customs and so Hadassah was raised in much the same way a boy might have been, studying with her uncle and given free rein to explore her interests. Most of the women she knew competed, like her fellow candidates, for the highest positions open to them – marriages to rich or influential men. But these desires were shaped by a ledger of value that was ultimately written by men. Hadassah wanted something more – though exactly what that more was she did not know – and yet she knew she would probably have to marry. There was no other way to find a place in society – at least, no acceptable way to find a place without it. She had long hoped that marriage might be a state she went through rather than stopped at, but she also had spent the last few years arguing for ways to avoid it a little longer. _Not yet_, she had pleaded with Mordecai. _Do not set me amongst the wares in the marketplace just yet_. And Mordecai would shout and throw up his hands.

But the contest had ruined all of that. A king's summons was something even Mordecai could not circumvent. _Except it isn't the king's summons_, not really, she thought drily. _It's the whole apparatus. The engine of custom and protocol putting on a show for all to see_.

The actual summons she had received had been completely unexpected, in the dead of night, when Hegai roused her, sleepy and startled, from her bed. There had been no time to change into new robes or line her eyes with kohl. After a swift and irritable tugging of a brush through her hair while Hegai waited, arms crossed and mouth impatient, she found herself following him along dim corridors as a torch bobbed and weaved ahead of them. And then she was ushered in after rushed and whispered instructions, and left to fend for herself. She did not expect to end that encounter with a conversation about the Greeks.

The memory of his hands came back to her. In her mind's eye she saw them working the clay, strong and flexible.

_His hands…_ Abruptly she stood, upending the flowers in her lap. Muttering curses she paced up one path and down another, pressing cool palms to her burning cheeks. Thoughts she would rather ignore began to tumble from their tidy boxes. She knew would see him again, whether she wanted to or not. There was her one night with him, as a candidate. But it could be months before her turn came.

Perhaps he would call upon her to read to him again? He'd said as much when they parted, but it had been two weeks and no call had come. Why had he not asked for her? Perhaps she had misread what seemed to be his interest in her. After all, it was just conversation, an amusing way to pass the late hours when sleep eluded him. And of course he had his pick of women; any woman he wanted could be brought to him and…

She shuddered, and a cold stone of anger formed inside her. _That is what he is_, she thought with some venom. _A man, a king. What are women to him but vessels to be used up, and cast aside?_ Vashti had angered him, and now Vashti was gone. And she, and Misgath and Hannah, and all the other women were now lining up to be the next entry on the ledger – the highest in the land, no doubt, but a ledger nonetheless.

That steadied her. _I do not want to be chosen. I __will__ not be chosen._ She lifted her chin defiantly as the blood ebbed from her temples.

"Esther!" Hegai was calling her. Reluctantly she turned to follow his voice. It was drawing toward evening and soon the lamps would be lit. Time for her to put aside the tumult of her thoughts and focus on practical matters. The only way back home was to navigate a course between the king's desires and her own.


End file.
